


something deep inside of you

by myownremedy



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Consensual Violence, Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownremedy/pseuds/myownremedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca always knows what Marcus needs before Marcus does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something deep inside of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchsticks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchsticks/gifts).



> Written for fandomaid for the Philippines Typhoon fund for the lovely matchsticks! This was only supposed to 1000 words, oh dear.  
> Title from Deep Inside of You by Third Eye Blind.  
> trigger warning: dom/sub, bdsm, consensual hitting.  
> disclaimer: the eagle isn't mine, this is fictional, no copyright infringement intended.  
> edit (4-13-15): this is a transformative work. I make no money off of it. I do not own what inspired this work (The Eagle), but I do own this work itself and hold full copyright over it. Thank you.

Esca has always known him better than himself.

It’s high summer – the horses stand almost motionless beneath the largest tree they can find, the buzzing of insects is constant, and their crops seem to grow before Marcus’s very eyes. Things are well on their modest farm, and still, Marcus is restless.

He is restless as he weeds the fields, restless as he checks the snares in the woods, restless as he gentles their new colt the way Esca has taught him, careful and calm and loving. And he can’t quite figure it out – is he restless because things are going so well? Is he restless because he is bored? Is he restless because he can sense something sinister to come?

That night, Esca watches him over dinner. Their hut is not much – a large room with a table in one end and two pallets in the other, all situated around a large hearth. They have a fire going constantly, never mind it’s high summer – they must cook, and cure hides, and smoke meat for the coming winter. Marcus eats in silence and notices Esca watching him, and thinks, for what must be the thousandth time, how lovely Esca is when the firelight plays over his face.

“You are not happy here.” Esca says bluntly, and Marcus drags the heel of bread across his nearly empty bowl, trying to mop up the rest of his stew. “Why? You wanted this – the farm.”

Marcus sighs. Esca is watching him still, grey eyes intent and Marcus has to look away, because of course it has fallen into place at Esca’s question, and he’s embarrassed.

“It is nothing,” he tries and he doesn’t need to look back at Esca to know his expression has grown fierce. Marcus’s face grows hot and he drops his gaze from the wall to the floor, and hears Esca sigh.

“I will not laugh at you, if that is your fear,” Esca’s voice is very gentle, like Marcus is one of his skittish colts, and Marcus relaxes despite himself.

“It’s stupid.” He says this time, but he looks up at Esca as he says it. “I just…I miss…the army.”

Esca’s expression clouds slightly.

“No – not what you think,” Marcus says hastily. “I just…I miss being good at something.”

Esca tilts his head. “You are good at many things, Marcus.”

Marcus fidgets.

“Is it not the same?” Esca asks. “Being good at something as a soldier and as a civilian?”

“No one tells me what to do anymore!” The words burst from Marcus before he can stop them and he flushes, the heat of his shame rising from his neck to ears and face. “I don’t – I don’t know how I’m doing, or what I need to do to do better, or…”

“You don’t report to anyone anymore.” Esca says softly, and Marcus nods frantically.

“Even as Commander of the garrison, I was reporting to other people. There was always someone who knew better, always someone else who could tell me yes or no or how I could improve. But here…” He trails off. “Forget I said anything, Esca. It is a stupid complaint.”

 

Esca doesn’t say anything until they are laying on their pallets, the fire banked, the only sound their breathing and the buzzing of insects.

“Marcus,” he whispers, and Marcus rolls over to look at him, squinting in the darkness. “Marcus.”

“What is it?” Marcus asks sleepily, and Esca smiles, white teeth flashing in the almost darkness.

“We could fix it, you know,” Esca’s words always come quicker when he is drowsy, like his sleepiness has broken some internal dam. “It is not an unusual wish.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You like being…commanded,” Esca’s voice is so soft that Marcus thinks he has misheard. “Being told what to do, how to do it. Many people do.”

Marcus doesn’t know what to say.

“It is in my heart,” Esca says then, reaching towards Marcus with one calloused hand, “that you let me help you with this.”

“I…” Marcus stammers and Esca grips his arm.

“Think about it,” the sleepiness has fallen from his voice, and he sounds intense, as intense as he did when he told Marcus they had to run. “But sleep now, Marcus. Sleep.”

Marcus falls asleep between one breath and the next.

 

Esca is gone when he awakes, though it is dawn. Marcus knows that Esca is giving him space but will never admit to it, is probably with the horses or hunting or fishing, something he can explain easily, something he doesn’t have to make excuses for.

Marcus dresses silently and retreats into the fields, tries to lose himself in his work, ignoring the cramps in his bad leg and lower back as he weeds and weeds and weeds.

He doesn’t see Esca during midday meal, or in the afternoon, so he is left with the farm and his thoughts, Esca’s offer sounding in his ears.

_It is in my heart that you let me help you with this._

_You like being commanded._

It was true, of course. Esca has always known him better then he knows himself, has always been able to see into his heart, has always kept him safe.

Here, in Hispana, Rome seems very far away, and the shame that comes with Rome’s eagle seems even farther.

 

Esca creeps into their hut when it has been dark for sometime, and Marcus is stretched out onto his pallet and feigning sleep. He lets Esca unsling his game bag and hang up his catches, Esca taking care to be quiet, and just as Esca is moving towards the hearth, he says: “You were right.”

Esca freezes, body stiffening, and then spins to peer at Marcus, who has sat up.

“You were right about me.” Marcus elaborates. “You always have been.”

Esca cocks his head, eyes bright.

“I want…” Marcus licks his lips, unsure what to say or how to say it.

“Say it,” Esca orders, voice tense, and Marcus can see he’s clenching his fists. That makes it easier to say it, knowing that Esca is as nervous as he is.

“I wish to serve you, Esca. Only you.”

He is rewarded by Esca’s smile.

“Come,” Esca orders. “Sit with me.” And Marcus does, one of Esca’s hands on his arm, the other busy with spoon and bread. They sit like that for the entire meal, and after Esca points to Marcus’s pallet and Marcus obeys, sitting on his pallet and watching as Esca drags his over to Marcus’s.

“Sleep,” Esca orders after he’s thrown an arm over Marcus’s waist, like this is across the wall and they are trying to stay warm, stay alive, and it is so familiar that Marcus settles against his body and falls asleep immediately.

 

*

 

They fall into it. Marcus doesn’t have to explain what he wants, because Esca knows, but Esca is still careful with him, orders him to eat or sleep or do something specific – things Marcus would have done anyway.

Esca takes him aside one day and says he needs a word that means ‘stop,’ a word that they don’t say often.

There are too many words connected to bad memories. Marcus doesn’t know which to pick and Esca again leaves him alone for a time, retreating to the river to fish while Marcus mends a fence and tries to run through all of the words he knows, British and Latin.

“Nine.” Marcus says when Esca returns, a string of fish over his shoulder and a quiet tiredness in his body. “I want the word to be nine.”

Esca doesn’t ask if it’s nine because of the Ninth legion. Marcus is grateful. Instead Esca puts his hand on the back of Marcus’s neck, though he has to stretch to do so. Marcus lets that simple pressure guide him into the hut, stays next to Esca as Esca sits, and then goes down onto his knees when Esca presses down on his neck.

He stays like that for a long time – Esca is busy with the fish, and with supper, and eventually Marcus loses track, just knows Esca is bustling around him and the wooden floor is hard on his knees, and then Esca is taking his hand and helping him up and into a chair.

“Good,” Esca says quietly, and Marcus ducks his head to hide his smile.

 

Autumn comes. Marcus and Esca work together to harvest, eager to get to their crops before the frost does. It is hard, exhausting work, and one night Marcus reaches for his food and Esca holds up his hand.

“No.” He says quietly. Marcus looks at him. There’s no trace of malice on his face, no cruelty – just the steely patience that is Esca, with a hint of gentleness in his eyes and the turn of his mouth.

Marcus stops. He sits at the table and watches Esca eat – and Esca eats slowly, eyes fixed ahead, like Marcus isn’t there, and Marcus waits and waits until Esca puts down his fork and drags his fingers through Marcus’s hair.

“Very good,” he says, and Marcus blushes and looks away, but Esca grips his chin and forces his head up. “I want to see your face, Marcus. I want to see how you blush for me.”

Marcus flushes hot, warmth coursing through his body, and Esca smiles at him. His eyes are very dark.

“Well done,” he whispers, and moves his fingers to Marcus’s cheek. Marcus turns his face into Esca’s hand, presses his lips against Esca’s palm, and they stay like that for a time, barely breathing.

 

*

 

“Is it helping?” Esca asks one day as he helps Marcus up from the floor, Marcus’s knees clicking in protest. “Being commanded?”

Marcus looks at the floor and senses Esca frown.

“Look at me,” Esca orders. In the past he’s had to repeat himself, but now Marcus obeys, meeting Esca’s firm grey eyes and feeling himself tremble.

“It helps,” he admits through dry lips. “I just…I don’t know if it’s allowed.”

“Allowed?” Esca raises a slender eyebrow.

“To enjoy it this much.”

He blushes hot when he says it and Esca smiles at him, and this time Marcus thinks he must have said the right thing, because Esca’s smile is feral and his eyes are dark, and Marcus thinks maybe Esca will consume him. Maybe that’s what they both want – to lose themselves in each other.

 

They go hunting more often, now that the crops are harvested. Marcus likes hunting better then farming, often gallops ahead of Esca, spear in hand. He can feel Esca’s eyes on his back and tries to ignore them, because the weight of Esca’s presence in his head is too much to hold onto when he’s hunting or tracking down game.

They bring down a doe – Marcus, with his spear, and Esca, with his bow, and Esca helps Marcus sling the deer over his horse’s saddle and stays near him as they walk back to the farm on foot.

“You’re different when you hunt.” Esca’s voice is quiet, the way it gets when he is telling Marcus to kneel, or to make him dinner, or to relax. “Happier. And then, when we’re done, it’s like everything comes flooding back.”

“I like the rush.” Marcus glances at Esca. “It helps me forget everything that has happened.”

Esca hums in thought, reaching up and snatching a colorful leaf from a low hanging branch. “Does what we do not help?”

“It’s different.” Esca is watching him, waiting for an answer. “With you…I just stop thinking. But hunting, I only focus on the present, instead of everything else.”

Esca doesn’t reply. Marcus sneaks a glance at him and sees Esca is lost in thought, brow furrowed and grey eyes fixed ahead.

He lets Esca be.

 

*

 

When winter comes suddenly, and while it’s milder then in Caledonia, Marcus still hates it, bundles up in braccae and furs and grumbles as he sits by the fire and mends his clothes or weapons. Esca doesn’t seem to be affected and makes fun of Marcus every chance he gets; it seems he’s made for weather like this. Sometimes he’ll leave to hunt and Marcus will not see him for hours, can clearly imagine Esca becoming one with a tree, changing from a human into shades of brown and grey and blue.

“In old Rome, we had classical gods,” Marcus says to Esca one day, touching his mark of Mithras absently. “And their children were nymphs – wood nymphs, or water nymphs.”

“Spirits?” Esca asks, only half listening. He’s sharpening his belt knife, the sound rhymatic and as comforting as it is irritating.

“Essentially yes,” Marcus says. “I think you are one, sometimes.”

“Me?” Esca puts down the whetstone and knife and stares at Marcus, face creased in one of his rare smiles. “No – not here, at least. These aren’t my woods.” For once, his face doesn’t cloud when he speaks of home.

“Would you like to return to your woods?” Marcus asks awkwardly, when the silence has stretched for too long. “To the land of the Brigantes?”

“It’s not Brigantes anymore,” Esca says, and his voice has become sad. “It’s Roman territory now.”

“Do they have spirits there? In your woods?” Marcus asks in an effort to distract Esca, who nods.

“Spirits, and Gods. My tribe is named after a goddess – Brigantia.”

“Does she hunt?”

“No,” Esca is smiling again. “The Horned One does that. He’s half man, half stag, and changes as he wishes. What brought this on, Marcus?”

“Because…” Marcus frowns and looks down at the pair of braccae he is mending, then looks back up. “You are so beautiful, Esca. Especially when you hunt.”

Esca meets his eyes and smiles, and it is such a queer, gentle smile that Marcus has to look away.

 

After that Esca stops hunting as much and lingers more. He’s everywhere Marcus turns, but he doesn’t do anything, just waits and watches and eventually Marcus grows irritable, grows restless, trapped in the hut by the snow. He waits for Esca to tell him to kneel, or to wait, waits for any sort of command but none come. Instead Esca watches him like he’s daring Marcus to say something, and finally Marcus does.

“You have not commanded me lately,” he waits to say it until the fire is low and the night is very dark; he can barely see Esca’s reaction.

“Been waiting for you,” Esca replies, propping himself up on his pallet. “You can ask for what you need, you know.”

“I don’t know what I need.” Marcus says weakly. “That’s…the point.”

“Do you know what you want, though?” Esca is staring at him. “I think you do, Marcus, you just don’t know how to say it.”

“I don’t,” Marcus admits, unsure what he’s responding to. He sits up so he’s kneeling in front of Esca, their eyes level for once. “I don’t.”

“Do you trust me?” Esca whispers and Marcus nods.

“I do,” he says once he realizes Esca is waiting for him to answer. “I do.”

Esca slaps him, palm cracking across Marcus’s face. Pain explodes across his face, and clarity comes close on it’s heel. Marcus realizes he is gasping, is shaking, but he leans towards Esca, hungry for more.

“Again,” he begs, and Esca smiles at him and then slaps him again, from the other direction, and then again and again until Marcus’s cheeks are stinging and he’s blinking back tears.

“Marcus,” Esca whispers, brushing cool fingers along Marcus’s slap-red skin. “Beautiful Marcus. You did so well.” He pulls Marcus down to his pallet, Marcus’s face pushed against Esca’s face. “So wonderful,” he murmurs, scratching along Marcus’s spine.

Marcus shudders, his mind clear for the first time since coming to Hispania, and turns his face up to Esca blindly – and Esca kisses him, hands gentle on each side of Marcus’s face, his body firm beneath Marcus, lips slightly chapped. Marcus, still shaking, kisses him back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr! ](marnz.tumblr.com) prompts welcome!


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